


Being the Herald - The Early Days

by chiogaru



Series: The Tale of the Reluctant Inquisitor and Savior Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Inquisitor trying to figure out what the heck he is supposed to be doing, Swearing, anger management issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-12-08 21:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11655252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiogaru/pseuds/chiogaru
Summary: The Herald has had a chance to get used to the general idea of his new, if unwanted, lot in life, but is going to have to learn that he can't quite approach matters as he has thus far.Covers the Inquisitor's initial conversations with this advisers and those he would eventually come to trust above all else, and the first venture into the Hinterlands...





	1. Plan, what plan?

Being proclaimed the Herald of Andraste had come as more than just a small shock. It had been a gods-damned shock of near epic proportions, considering the very same people, who had wished him dead and would have likely murdered him had they the chance were now groveling at his feet and falling over themselves to please him.

 

This does not sit well with him at all, thankfully, not everyone in Haven treats him as some long dead Shemlen woman's celestial messenger, but this does not stop them from addressing him as _Herald_. At least he'd heard it often enough to stop grimacing or scowling whenever they did, Leliana had chided him about that. He had finally been asked to at least pretend he didn't hate being there and his new title with every fiber of his being, and that if he did, they would _try_ to find a way to minimize the adulation that was making him so uncomfortable.

 

All of Haven had been keeping busy getting the Inquisition organized for the past few weeks, while he'd spent several days moping about and keeping to himself, until he'd eventually gone to talk to people around camp. After all, if he's going to have to be around them for an indeterminate amount of time, he might as well get to know and figure out who he'll be fighting alongside of.

 

Now, it seems they finally have that plan they'd been going on about having, and he'd been called to the Chantry…which he'd been avoiding for as much and as long as possible.

 

Walking alongside her now, Meldarion glances down at his hand, odd how he had grown used to it glowing like that, he'd had to wrap it up with a blanket for several nights before it stopped bothering him enough to prevent him from going to sleep, and there had, thankfully, been no further bursts of pain.

 

"Does it trouble you?" The female warrior asks, and it takes him a moment to realize she'd noticed him looking down at his hand, and that she isn't in fact asking his opinion on something she'd just been talking about and he hadn't been listening to at all.

 

He sighs, "Honestly? I wish I didn't have it, but what bothers me more is not knowing where it came from, and why, of all people, I'm the one stuck with it."

 

"What's important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You've given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by." She goes on, unperturbed by his response, but not unkindly.

 

"I hope this means you have a plan – an actual plan." The Elf remarks as they approach the door to where he'd experienced his little…outburst, but has since been termed _the War-room_.

 

"We do." Cassandra confirms, actually allowing herself to crack a slight smile, as she pushes the door open and ushers Meldarion in ahead of her to stand before Leliana and…two other people he'd seen around Haven, but hadn't spoken or been introduced to…yet.

 

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces." Cassandra indicates the only other man in the room.

 

"Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through." The man nods to Meldarion.

 

The Elf observes him as nonchalantly as he can, which is something he is surprisingly quite good at, mostly because Shemlen generally don't hold a lot of interest for him. The accent is familiar at least – Fereldan. And the way he carries himself seems fitting to his post…for now. Attractive enough to most, probably, objectively speaking. His gaze moves on to the remaining stranger in the room just as Cassandra introduces her,

 

"This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

 

The Herald had never thought much about fashion, out in the wilderness, clothes had to be practical and serve a function usually more directly related to long-term survival. Still, he supposes there isn't anything terribly wrong with her clothes, he personally wishes they'd provided him with something else to wear though…perhaps, something a little less figure hugging, had they taken his measurements when he was unconscious? He'd procured some clothes better suited to staying alive than the silken body-glove he's currently in, from Seggrit, which he intends to change into as soon as he knows what the plan is and where to go. Having allowed his mind to unwittingly wander, he is genuinely surprised by the words the tan-skinned woman speaks next.

 

"Andaran Atish'an."

 

"You speak elven?" His eyes actually widen, and he can't quite keep the astonishment from his voice.

 

"You've just heard the entirety of it, I'm afraid." At which, the surprise drains away quite quickly. The diplomat – Josephine – responds in an accent identifying the last of their merry band of misfits as an Antivan.

 

_'So, we have a Nevarran, an Orlesian, a Fereldan, and now an Antivan being led by an Elf…It sounds like the beginning of one of those really bad "walked into a tavern" jokes. By the Creators, what would they pull out of their asses next? A Tevinter and a Qnari perhaps? Or a Chasind, we haven't collected one of those yet, and we do indeed seem to want to collect them all!"_

 

Meldarion's cultured internal dialogue is interrupted by the re-introduction of Leliana.

 

"And of course you know Sister Leliana."

 

"My position here involves a degree of-" The Orlesian begins, only for Cassandra to cut in and get straight to the point, which is highly appreciated for once.

 

"She is our spymaster."

 

He honestly wishes he could say he was taken aback by the revelation, but in truth, he really isn't, not with the way she'd carried herself when they first met. Although, Leliana is evidently less than pleased by this.

 

"Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra."

 

More than a little impatient and desperate to find out where to go from here - hopefully away from Haven for a while before he goes completely stir-crazy - Meldarion clears his throat, "Cassandra tells me you have a plan. You do have one, don't you?"

 

Cassandra gives him a look, but doesn't remark on it, declaring instead, "I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good."

 

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help." Leliana adds, only for the commander to frown and shake his head.

 

"And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well."

 

"We need power, Commander." Cassandra cuts in firmly, "Enough magic poured into that mark–"

 

Only to be promptly interrupted by Cullen, "Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–"

 

"Pure speculation." Leliana butts in this time, as the Elf looks on, trying to process the new information.

 

He supposes they needed to get the power from somewhere, he can certainly see the sense in that, but approaching the factions that had a hand in creating this mess in the first place does not sit well with him at all. If a third alternative presented itself, he'd gladly take it, but based on the debate he's hearing, that is hardly going to be the case…

 

"I was a Templar. I know what they're capable of." Cullen declares a little more heatedly, making it quite clear where he stands in the mage vs. templar argument.

 

Meldarion discreetly inches as far back as he can to create distance between himself and the proclaimed Templar. Being a mage, and an _apostate_ no less, he too is aware of what Templars are capable of, and the less Templars are around, the better in his opinion based on his admittedly limited experience in brief encounters with them.

 

"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically." Josephine interjects.

 

The Elf rolls his eyes and sighs, "Honestly, I wish I could say I was amazed by that, but I'm really not. They still think I'm guilty." Which is infuriating as well as it is maddening, considering, a small part of him sees the sense in their thought-process. If he'd been a stranger looking in from the outside, he wouldn't trust himself either. Just a renegade Dalish apostate with a glowing hand that randomly appeared around the same time the Conclave blew up, tearing a giant hole in the sky and a bunch of smaller holes with demons spewing out of them…Alright, he might have sealed some of those and stopped the big one from getting bigger, but there is too much uncertainty, too many questions, not enough answers…too many holes in the story as there apparently were all over the countryside!

   
"That is not the entirety of it any longer." The Antivan responds in a tone that promises a headache in his near future.

 

"Can't you simply ignore them?" Meldarion knows he's being whiny, but a lot had happened and been forced upon him in a relatively short space of time, and he'd never been particularly flexible. The chief craftsman of their clan had once remarked that if he were to liken the First to a type of wood, he'd never be used to make a bow as he'd snap the moment anyone attempted to string him and probably take an eye out in the process.

  
"If only that were possible." Leliana sighs.

 

"Some are calling you – a Dalish Elf – the 'Herald of Andraste.' That frightens the Chantry." Josephine goes on to explain patiently, "The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you."

 

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt." Cassandra's lips twist in distaste at the mere mention of the name.

 

"It limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question." Josephine goes on.

 

"Just how am I the 'Herald of Andraste'?" Meldarion inhales deeply to keep his temper under control, "I've certainly never said or indicated any of that, why not the Herald of the Creators? One of the Elven Gods? Some of them do happen to be female, after all!" Of course the Chantry is frightened, but the revelation that people actually believed such nonsense about him frightens him a lot more!  


"People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste." Cassandra explains as though she were speaking to a small child, causing the Elf's scowl to deepen.

  
"Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading–" Leliana adds.  


"Which we have not." Cassandra adds helpfully, earning another glare from him.

  
'The point is, everyone is talking about you." The not-so-secret Spymaster concludes almost proudly.

  
"It's quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?" Cullen actually has the gall to smile at him, how does he expect a Dalish Elf would feel? Proclaimed Herald to a people that had tried exterminating his people years before, and still mistreat them given the chance?

 

But sensing a warning frown from Cassandra and Leliana, he opts for the most diplomatic answer he can manage through slightly gritted teeth, "It's… a little unsettling, and, I'm no Herald of anything anyway. Certainly not Andraste." Meldarion responds heatedly, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

  
"I'm sure the Chantry would agree." Cullen smiles wryly.

 

"Just about the only thing the Chantry and I will ever agree on…" The unwilling Herald mutters.

 

"People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you're that sign." Leliana points out.

 

"Ha! I doubt they'd think that, if they really knew what I was like…" Meldarion scoffs self-depreciatingly.

 

"And to others, a symbol of everything that's gone wrong." Josephine adds, which gives him just the tiniest glimmer of hope…

 

"So if I wasn't with the Inquisition…" He asks offhandedly, feigning as much innocence as he dares.  


"Let's be honest: They would have censured us no matter what." Cullen shakes his head, just as Cassandra adds,  
  
"And you not being here isn't an option."

 

Damn! Well, it had been worth the attempt to get away and out of this mess…

 

"So, let me get this straight…" Meldarion steeples his fingers as he consolidates the information as they've provided it, "At the moment, the Chantry is more concerned with the fact that I am an Elf, first and foremost, the Breach doesn't worry them at all? The real threat? And the only people who are able to help us, are the very same that caused all this to happen in the first place, and they won't talk to us because of what the Chantry thinks." He takes a moment to compose himself and keep his rapidly flaring temper in check, "So what pray tell, is this supposed plan that you claim to have devised for us to move forward, because right now, all I'm hearing about are setbacks and dead ends."

  
"They do know that the Breach is a threat, they just don't think we can stop it." Cullen adds, although he at least seems to be aware that it isn't particularly helpful.

  
"The Chantry is telling everyone that you'll make it worse." Josephine concurs.

 

"How could it possibly get-" The Elf interrupts himself just in time, you never said or questioned how something could get any worse, because, if you did, it inevitably would, "If they think I'll just make it worse, who do they expect is going to be able to make the attempt to make it better?"

 

The gathered Shemlen share a look between them, before Leliana eventually volunteers to respond, although it doesn't appear to have anything to do with answering his question, "There is something you can do. A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable."

 

Never mind the fact that he has no idea how anyone from the Chantry – said institution that had steadfastly declared themselves against him – is supposed to help in dealing with the mage and templar situation; he is uncertain as to why they seem to think it a good idea for _him_ of all people to go meet with said Cleric, "Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?"

  
"I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she doesn't agree with her sisters?" The Spymaster suggests, although he can tell from the slight edge to her voice, that this isn't really a suggestion and that she will broker no further argument from him, and that he is going to damn well go whether he likes it or not.

 

"Reasonable, you say?" Meldarion feigns an overly polite tone, "My, my…Wouldn't that be a first?"

 

Leliana sighs and gives a slight shake of her head in exasperation, "You'll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe."

 

Unperturbed by the Herald's behavior, or more likely being too polite to show much of a reaction, Cullen adds, "Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you're there."

 

And likely wanting to say her piece before he inevitably rushed off, Josephine hastily points out, "We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them."

 

"Oh, is that all?" And even Meldarion knows he's just being an insufferable ass, but can't seem to stop himself, "Are you certain you don't also want me to bring you back some loaves of bread and cheese wheels?"

 

Cassandra gives him a _look_ and makes a dismissive gesture with her hand that indicates they can all stop listening to what the Elf has to say for now, "In the meantime, let's think of other options. I won't leave this all to the Herald."

 

"Are you sure about that? Because you damn well seem to be." He can't help but remark snarkily.

 

The Nevarran frowns and gestures to the others to get on with planning, while she slaps her arm to the Herald's back and leads him towards the door, leaning in close enough to hiss into his ear, "You have made it perfectly clear that you do not wish to be here, and given a choice, I'd gladly work with _anyone_ else! But there is no other choice, you're the only one who can seal the Rifts, and without us, you are as good as dead. So, my advice to you is to stop your incessant complaining, and try speaking civilly to the people you're going to be spending a lot of time working with." And with that, she nudges him out the door, promptly shutting it behind him, while they continue their discussion without him.

 

Meldarion would like to scream in frustration, this felt too much like the losing arguments he had with the Keeper, who he realizes with a start, he actually _misses_. He had to make certain she never found out about that, she'd never let him live it down otherwise.

 

With nothing else to do but prepare to depart for the Hinterlands, he trudges off to change into something more serviceable and make sure they're well stocked in Elfroot, that at least, Haven has in abundance. It would also give him time to think and calm down.


	2. Taking Cassandra's advice - Talking to Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Displeased, but wanting to make an effort, Meldarion makes an effort to socialize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything against Solas, or any of the Inquisition party for that matter (except maybe Vivienne), and it generally depended on the type of characters I'd play.

Having spent a considerable amount of time gathering Elfroot in the nearby forests bordering on Haven until his pack was full to bursting, Meldarion had taken his time walking over to Adan's to have enough potions mixed and ready for the inevitable quest into the Hinterlands that lies before them.

Adan never spoke much unless Meldarion actually directed a question his way, which is precisely why the Elf – who wouldn't go so far as saying he liked the man – could at least say that he was perfectly tolerable. They'd merely nodded to one another and gotten on with their respective tasks.

Upon finishing with the potions, and having no further excuse to loiter in the man's hut, the reluctant Herald slinks back outside, and sees Solas standing off to one side, observing him unabashedly. Being the only other Elf in Haven, who didn't bow and scrape at the sight of him, Meldarion is a little more at ease approaching him, but remains cautious as the other Elf seemed to have an aversion to the Dalish.

Solas nods to him with his strange little smile that always seems to hint that he knows far more than he may be willing to reveal, and proclaims, "The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed Hero sent to save us all."

Of all the greetings, that is most certainly not one Meldarion had been expecting, and he is so taken aback by it, he isn't sure if Solas is being sincere or incredibly sarcastic, either way, he is fighting the urge to snap and bite the other's head off, having spent so much damn time trying to calm down…

So instead, he takes a deep breath, and responds in the most reasonable tone he can manage, "I am no hero. I have no interest in being a hero. I just want to find a way to seal the Breach, possibly get this-" He raises his marked hand, "-off, get the people who want me dead to stop wanting to kill me, and return home to my clan."

Solas does not answer immediately, but eyes him in that irritatingly calculating manner that leaves Meldarion feeling like he is being measured on some invisible scale, only to be found almost certainly wanting.

"Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant."

The Dalish Elf is starting to remember why he doesn't like talking to Solas all that much, he had the habit of talking about himself far too much and lacking the flair and panache of Varric's storytelling, ultimately came across as a condescending git.

"I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten." Solas also had a habit of imparting information like he was reciting a saga, "Every great war has its heroes. I'm curious what kind you'll be."

He was now looking at Meldarion expectantly, but having already said earlier that he has no interest in any kind of heroism, he doesn't rise to the bait, wanting to know about something Solas had said instead, "Ruins and battlefields?"

The other Elf smiles, pleased by the question, as it meant another opportunity to impart wisdom upon the ignorant, "Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors if time has a history." He lectures, leaving the Herald with the feeling he should be taking notes, "Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."

Meldarion blinks, and has to grudgingly admit, from a mage's standpoint at least, that he is deeply impressed, if what Solas says is really true, and he suspects it is…

"I've never heard of anyone going that deep into the Fade before…" He manages to say this, whilst suppressing the peculiar urge to raise his hand before speaking, "It's very impressive."

"Thank you." The other Elf inclines his head, "It's not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream?" He sighs wistfully, "I would not trade it for anything."

For a moment, the Dalish Elf is uncertain as to what he is supposed to say to that, he'd been in the Fade before, of course, but mostly he'd slipped into it while dreaming, but the frequency of such occurrences had decreased significantly as he'd gotten older and gotten a grip on his abilities. He'd certainly never experienced it the way Solas apparently has, and having been deep in thought contemplating this, he nearly jumps when the other Elf starts talking again.

"It will be interesting to watch this fledgling Inquisition make its way. I will stay, at least until the Breach has been closed."

Ah, to have the luxury to choose when to leave…Meldarion glowers, some people have all the luck, "Was that in doubt?"

"I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces-" He raises a hand to forestall the Herald from speaking when the other opens his mouth to do just that, "-Unlike you, I do not have a Divine mark protecting me."

"Protecting me…" The Dalish Elf repeats frowning at the offending glow, "More like shackling me…I'm stuck here as long as I have it." And, there was no foreseeable way of removing it.

"Perhaps, but you are still alive, and for as long as you have the mark, you are protected from the Chantry and are allowed to continue being so. Cassandra, has in my case, been accommodating, but you understand my caution."

This does make Meldarion wonder what Solas is even doing with them, if being an apostate amidst Chantry forces, a veritable sheep among wolves, truly is such a danger and concern.

"Well, Cassandra seems to trust you a great deal more than she trusts me, so I doubt she'll let anyone put you in a Circle against your will." The Herald shrugs.

Once again, Solas smiles, "Thank you. I appreciate the thought." He turns his gaze back to the sky, "For now, let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach."

Meldarion wants to know how Solas knew about the mages and the templars despite not being at the meeting, but figures that the other Elf had likely reasoned, along with everyone else, who bothered thinking about where to source such power, that the two warring factions were the most logical and likely source.

And since their conversation appears to be at an end for the moment, he murmurs a farewell, and walks away towards the center of the camp.


	3. Hoping for something uplifting - Talking to Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald-in-denial hopes his favorite Dwarven author will be able to raise his somewhat fallen spirits, only to find that even the witty Varric can be as serious as the grave when the occasion calls for it.

It had been on his mind to return to his cabin until preparations had been made for them to leave for the Hinterlands to meet the – in his opinion – highly suspect Mother Giselle, Leliana had spoken of, but when he sees his favorite Dwarven author, which he still hasn't had the courage to admit to him, staring listlessly up at the Breach in the sky, he decides to wander over for yet more conversation, wondering idly if Calloniel would be proud of him.

Varric notices him approaching and grins, "So, now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day."

There are so many different ways for him to respond to that, that Meldarion has to briefly consider which of his feelings and thoughts on the matter trump the other, but in the end, he settles for frustrated honesty, "None of this shit should have happened! I wasn't even supposed to be here, and half the time I don't even know what's going on anymore."

The Dwarf nods sympathetically, "That makes two of us." And with that, he turns his eyes back to the sky, just as everyone else in camp did in between tasks, as if to make sure that it was really up there, and not just one horrible shared nightmare they'd eventually wake up from, "For days now, we've been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived." It was worrying when even Varric became serious, it just made the direness of the situation all the more apparent.

"If it was that bad…" Meldarion starts, "Why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go." He certainly would have high-tailed it out of there the moment the world seemed to fall apart around them.  


Varric shrugs thoughtfully, "I like to think I'm as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there's a hole in the sky. Even I can't walk away and just leave that to sort itself out."

The Elf grimaces, uncertain, if Varric is aware of his reluctance to be a part of the Inquisition Cassandra and the others are working so hard to form, and had said all that purposely to make him feel guilty…and like a coward.

"None of this…feels real to me. I can hardly believe it's all really happening." He murmurs quietly, sounding as lost as he feels.  


"If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punch line coming." The Dwarf sighs and shakes his head before he gives the Herald a mischievous grin, although, there is a hunted look to his eyes as he speaks, "You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But the hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle."

He honestly hadn't thought anyone could make him feel worse than he already did after that chat with Solas, but Varric had accomplished just that.

Even if he did run, and the truth of it, which he had been ignoring and denying himself all this time is that, if he did run, and leave them all to deal with the Breach on their own, they would almost certainly fail. And there would be no home to return to, and he'd be damning himself as well as the world.

So, as much as he wants to run, he knows he can't…Calloniel wouldn't have even considered it, and the mere thought of her leaves him feeling so ashamed as he hasn't felt in years…not since the _incident_.

Once again, he murmurs a farewell, which Varric, sensing the Elf has more than a little on his mind, and shoulders, returns semi-cheerily and with the promise of more conversations to come in the near future.

If indeed they have one to look forward to.


	4. Don't judge a Templar...for being a Templar?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling surprisingly disheartened following a discussion with Varric, Meldarion finds himself speaking with the dreaded Templar, but the Commander doesn't quite turn out to be the person the Elf thought he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep re-reading previous chapters and works in the series, and am frustrated by the number of typos that elude me, despite having read through the texts several times both before and after posting, meaning I have to keep going back to obsessively edit when I do notice them.

After that emotionally uplifting chat with Varric, Meldarion is having second thoughts about the whole talking to people to get along with them better concept.

It is therefore with quite a bit of apprehension that he approaches Cullen while he is training recruits.

"You there! There's a shield in your hand. Block with it." Cullen barks, "If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead."

Well, that was certainly one way to motivate someone.

He next directs his attention towards the instructing officer, "Lieutenant, don't hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one."

"Yes, Commander." The lieutenant salutes and returns to his duties, all while the Elf stands awkwardly to the side, trying to find an opportune time to interrupt, since he's already stood there for too long to pretend he isn't here to talk to the Commander.

Finally, Cullen turns to him, and he'd either forgotten Meldarion's earlier behavior, which is unlikely, or he is merely being polite and gracious, which it probably is, and also means he isn't the bastard of a Templar he'd assumed he was going to be, just because the man happens to be one – the Elf might have taken this thought further and come to the epiphany that perhaps, he himself was being judgmental by allowing bad experiences of the past to cloud his perception of others, and that maybe, he should give others the benefit of the doubt, instead of assuming the worst, but that is precisely when Cullen starts speaking, and that thought, like many others, is whisked away by distraction to never be thought of again…Until he eventually would.

"We've received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did."

Meldarion blinks, "I didn't exactly plan that." Although, if others had, it is unlikely he'd have been the only suspect…which also means that they might have just killed him and kept one of the humans around to work with instead.

The Commander smiles, completely unaware of the deeply cynical thoughts swirling about in the Herald's head, and damn him, it seemed genuine, "I'd be concerned if it was."

The both of them proceed to walk along the lines of training recruits, and the Templar continues to converse with him as they do, and seemed to think it important to tell the Elf more about his background, even though he hadn't been asked.

"I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the Mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused."

"…I can imagine." The Dalish Elf murmurs, he and his clan hadn't been anywhere near Kirkwall, and yet the news of the chaos had reached even their ears, it is around then that Meldarion notices a soldier trailing along behind them from his peripheral vision.

"Ser!" The nameless soldier hands Cullen a report, before rushing off again.

The Commander continues speaking, even as he the papers a cursory glance, "Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse."

Well, that much the reluctant Herald can agree with, even, if he wouldn't directly admit to such a thing, "The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky, your only hope an Elven Heretic proclaimed the Herald of Andraste – I'd hazard a guess at the next catastrophe to befall us, except that knowing my luck, it'd probably happen, if I do."

Cullen smiles once more, and Meldarion wonders, if he really is a hardened Templar and Commander, he'd never seen either such a person smile so much in conversation, least of all when speaking with an Elf as well as a Mage, "Which is why we're needed. The Chantry lost control of both Templars and Mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There's so much we can– Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture."

"Um…" The Dalish Elf doesn't find it in him to snap at the man, mostly, he's just stunned that a Templar of all people is the one talking plain common sense, and that he finds himself _agreeing_ with the man, "You've clearly given this a lot of thought…I'd prefer if more people thought of it that way instead of debating religion and if I really am what they say I am…"

"I know what happens when order is lost and action comes too late." The Commander responds seriously, his demeanor hardening, that instills within the Elf a sense that the man is perhaps suited to his role after all, as yet another soldier approaches at a slight run, which meant that their conversation is drawing to an end, "There's still a lot of work ahead." Cullen states apologetically.

"Commander!" The soldier salutes hurriedly, and Meldarion privately wonders why these so-called military and militia men spend so much time shouting at each other when they were just standing a few feet apart in fairly quiet surroundings, it's amazing the echoes didn't bring snow crashing down the mountains to bury them all, "Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines."

"As I was saying." The Commander nods to the Herald before he walks away to get on with more important tasks.


	5. Bantering with Cassandra - Unexpected Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst speaking with Cassandra, Meldarion learns, for the first time, that his clan may not be as safe as he had previously presumed leaving him with more to worry and question than his supposed divine calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always struck me as odd that Cassandra would make such a remark in what is still one of the early conversations you get to have with her, when up to that point, there had been no indication or even a codex entry to imply anything had befallen clan Lavellan prior to the relevant war table quests that become available later down the line, and after you get the first letter from the Keeper, which doesn't indicate anything horrible had transpired either.

Feeling as though he'd betrayed some part of himself for agreeing with a Templar, and not disliking Cullen for being one, it is with some relief that he approaches Cassandra, who he notices nearby on the other side of a few tents next to the training recruits, mercilessly battering a training dummy with a sword.

He and Cassandra didn't always get along…actually, they didn't get along almost all the time, but speaking with the Commander had left him feeling confused and…conflicted, and conversations as well as arguments with Cassandra are delightfully straightforward, and remind him a little bit of home.

The Seeker evidently has something on her mind, and is taking said frustrations out on an inanimate object of wood and straw, in almost similar fashion to the way Meldarion vents when he isn't gathering Elfroot. However, the violence doesn't seem to be doing much for her mood based on the disgusted grunts she's making.

"I'd feel more assured, if you tell me you weren't just picturing my face on that thing…" He remarks as he steps up to her side, but out of reach of the weapon she is still holding and could accidentally skewer him with in a moment's anger and forgetfulness that he is supposed to be their savior.  


"What, that?" It astounds him how Cassandra manages to sound perpetually angry, and how all that scowling hadn't permanently lined her face a certain way yet.  


The Elf shrugs, "There's obviously _someone_ you don't like, or something…honestly, I find it hard to tell with you, since you're always enraged about something."

"I am not-" She begins indignantly, before she silences herself with yet another scowl his way, and a frustrated sigh, "Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life. One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right."

Well, straight-forward she may be, but not without surprises, Meldarion hadn't been expecting that kind of self-depreciation. At least, not from her.

"Well, then…What does your faith tell you?"  


Cassandra had since ceased her assault on the dummy, and eyes him with a worried frown, composing her thoughts before she speaks, "I believe you are innocent. I believe more is going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot. But is this the Maker's will? I can only guess."

He'd never admit it to her, but her saying she believes in his innocence, for a moment at least, filled him with a warm fuzzy feeling, and quashes any thoughts he might have entertained to instigate another argument with her.

"So…You don't think I'm the Herald of Andraste?"

The warrior woman considers his question carefully before she responds, "I think you were sent to help us. I hope you were. But the Maker's help takes many forms. Sometimes it's difficult to discern who it truly benefits, or how."

Meldarion fervently hopes that there hadn't been divine involvement of any kind to put him in his current position, as that would almost certainly mean having to live up to expectations he couldn't possibly meet. Although, it seemed to have worked for both the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, "Technically, I was sent to spy on you, and that was our Keeper's decision, who last I checked, is as mortal as the rest of us. And, while I don't think the Maker, or any God for that matter is responsible for my being here…" He shrugs, "I think we're a little too far gone to worry about it now."  


"You think so, do you?" Cassandra cracks a rare smile, albeit, a cynical one, "We have only just begun."

Oh, joy. Considering how "good" a start they had had, he isn't certain about wanting to see how it ends.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, the reluctant Herald settles for a shrug, "Well, what's going to happen now then? And I don't mean about my running off to the Hinterlands to speak to some Chantry Sister-"

"Mother." Cassandra interrupts.

"-Mother," Meldarion continues without missing a beat, "Who may or may not be of help to us in approaching the Templars or the Mages."  


The Seeker takes a deep breath, which either promised a tirade, or a lengthy speech, "Now we deal with the Chantry's panic over you before they do even more harm. Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can. After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high."

Lengthy speech it was…

"My trainers always said, 'Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.' I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again."

Meldarion is a little stunned, Cassandra had admitted to being wrong, and he isn't used to that, blaming the Elf had always been the acceptable way out, hadn't it? Which is probably why he blurts out, "It wasn't like you had no reason to suspect me…I would have suspected myself."  


She shake her head in disagreement, "No, I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone. And…it is as you said, an Elven spy and the only one to survive the explosion at the Conclave, you were as convenient a scapegoat as any. And I should not have allowed my grief and anger to cloud my judgment as it did."

Oh, Gods…Cassandra was making him feel _bad_ about her feeling bad for having accused him of a crime he did not commit.

 _It's happening._ He realizes with growing horror. _I've gone mad, and I'm becoming one of them!_

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, the Seeker continues speaking, "You've said you don't believe you're chosen. Does that mean… you also don't believe in the Maker?"

Had she brought this question up earlier in the conversation, he might have snapped something condescending at her, but, her unreasonable reasonableness had taken nearly all the fire out of him, and he just cannot bring himself to do so any longer, "I'm Dalish. I believe in our own gods." He finds himself responding instead, which is about as diplomatic as he's ever been. The Clan would have accused him of being possessed by a Demon had they witnessed it.  


"And there's no room among your gods for one more?" Cassandra pauses, but seeing as this question seemed to make the Elf uncomfortable, she continues, "I suppose it doesn't matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us."

It isn't so much that Meldarion doesn't believe he is here for no particular reason other than his clan having sent him there, but more so that the Creators have a twisted sense of humor and want to see him suffer. And just as he wonders, if Cassandra is going to resume beating the dummy into submission and he should probably be on his merry way, she springs another question on him.

"It occurs to me that I don't actually know much about you."

And a most unexpected question at that…Could this be Cassandra trying to be…Nice? He quickly glances up. Yes, the hole is still there, but the sky does not appear to be falling onto their heads just yet.

"Oh. Well, what do you want to know?"

Apparently, the warrior hadn't expected him to play along and entertain the question, "I'm… not sure. Where are you from?"

He'd expected something more invasive, considering she could have learnt that from speaking with quite a few people in camp…

"I thought you already knew that."  


Cassandra sighs, "I suppose I could ask Leliana. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you."

Meldarion now finds himself worrying about what exactly Leliana has on him and if there is any way he can find out without incriminating himself, and he nearly misses what Cassandra says next.

"But I don't want to ask her. I want to hear it from you."

Ah, it was a refreshing change to see that the woman once determined to see him dead wants to get to know him a little, which is why he responds honestly.

"My clan never stayed in one place for long, though we primarily roamed the Free Marches."  


"Oh? I didn't think your people roamed that far north, clearly I'm mistaken. I'm told some members of your clan might still be alive. Do you intend to go back?"

 _Might still be alive?!_ Why would any of them be dead?! Had something happened, while he'd been declared a murderer turned savior? The Rifts couldn't have spread as far as the Free Marches, surely?

His alarm must have been apparent, because Cassandra rushes to calm him,

"I am sorry, I thought you might have learnt of it, but your clan has camped near Wycome, and there has been some…unrest in the area."

Is Keeper Deshanna still alive? And Calloniel…she'd always be among the first to place herself in danger in order to protect the clan. Oh, Creators, they were supposed to be safe while he went to face certain danger, they weren't supposed to walk into it while he was gone!

"I'd go home right now if I could…" He murmurs in quiet despair at not knowing how his people fare, and worse yet, that the only ones he could truly claim to love and hold dear in this world might no longer even be alive…And should they be in danger, no one would let him go back to help them. The fate of the world is more important than a few Dalish Elves after all…  


"I hope you can, once this business is done." The Nevarran woman responds softly, "You could speak to Josephine, she is remarkably resourceful that one…"

Meldarion nods numbly, not daring himself to speak just yet. All this time, he'd been worrying about himself and his own fate, he hadn't even thought that his clan could be in danger.


	6. Josephine - Of Elves and Aristocracy

Meldarion had rushed back to the Chantry building after Cassandra's startling revelation, and he wonders, if anyone else had known, and just like her, assumed he knew. And it is with this burning question that he opens the door to Josephine's office without knocking only to find her arguing with the most ridiculously clad Shemlen man he's ever laid eyes on, who pointedly ignores him.

But of course…Just an Elf, after all. Not worth giving just another Elf his valuable attention, is it? And as distressed as the Herald had been, he is now just as angry.

"The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can't prove it was founded on Justinia's orders." The man proclaims loftily.

Oh, to know what it feels to be in the possession of such an ill-placed sense of self-entitlement…Meldarion has never been certain if it is a general Shemlen trait, or one more common to the aristocracy, and all Orlesians. If he is any judge…all three likely apply to the ambassador's current guest.

"This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day." Josephine responds, as she is there to do, diplomatically, discreetly gesturing for Meldarion to step forward, and he sullenly steps further into the room.

"But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked his life to slow the magic of the Breach." She goes on grandly, "Ser Lavellan, this is the Marquis DuRellion, one of the Divine Justinia's greatest supporters."

DuRellion finally spares a look for the Elf, who wonders what the point of the stupid mask is when it doesn't seem to serve any practical function, it probably even obscured one's peripheral vision, he almost misses what the Orlesian has to say, "And the rightful owner of Haven. House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This 'Inquisition' is not a beneficiary of this arrangement."

Meldarion's eyes narrow, he needs to speak with Josephine, and has no patience for this pompous jackass and his ultimately pointless posturing, "This is the first I've heard of Haven having an owner outside the Chantry."

The Marquis puffs up, and with his gaudy black and yellow color combination resembles a large black-headed bunting, a bird he would often come across as his clan traveled through grasslands in the warmer seasons, "My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is…she was a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds."

A property dispute. The world may well be on the verge of ending, and the man is disputing land rights?! There is something so inanely stupid about the entire situation, that the Herald forgets why he'd come to see Josephine in the first place, "Demons are pouring from the sky, and you’re worried about land claims?" He hisses.

Having perhaps realized that all this could have been better timed, the nobleman nevertheless soldiers on, as backing out now would make him seem an even bigger fool, "Haven is the DuRellions' rightful property!"

The Elf wonders, if the ambassador would be very upset with him, if he broke the man's nose.

Just then, Josephine, who had remained remarkably quiet, while Meldarion had been perhaps…less tactful than he could have been, finally speaks up, having perhaps sensed the growing tension, and simmering tempers on the brink of flaring, "Has Empress Celene officially acknowledged your possession of Haven?"

DuRellion actually falters, needing a moment to find his voice, as he admits, "The empress…has not yet had the opportunity to do so."

Ha! Typical! He'd thought them weak and unprepared, and that dropping some names and titles would be enough to bully them and drive them away! And Meldarion would have likely said as much, if Josephine hadn't given him a guarded smile that told him to keep his Andraste-chosen mouth shut.

"We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem." She goes on, soothingly, persuasively even.

The Orlesian pouts, clearly not pleased by the result, but has retained enough of his senses to know when he has been beaten, "I'll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile."

And he finally leaves without so much as another glance at the Herald, who is fuming at the way the man had phrased his decision to drop his claim for the moment, by making it sound they were staying here by _his_ permission.

 _"I should have broken his nose while I had the chance."_ But he does not voice this thought out loud.

"Do the DuRellions actually have a claim on this place?" He instead turns to Josephine incredulously, "And if they do, why in the Dread Wolf's name would he think _now_ would be a good time to dispute such a thing?!"

Josephine now calm and collected once more, returns to her seat behind the desk at the back of the room, "His Grace's position is not so strong as he presents it. Despite their Ferelden relations, the DuRellions are Orlesian. If the Marquis wishes to claim Haven, Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden on his behalf. Her current concerns are a bit larger than minor property disputes."

Meldarion rolls his eyes, and actually looks a little smug, "Ha! 'His Grace' was all bluster, then."

The Antivan inhales deeply and goes on patiently, as though she is explaining this to a young child, and she might as well be, a Dalish Elf used to a life in the wilderness and only occasional contact with humans could hardly be expected to know or understand much of the ways of the aristocracy, Orlesians in particular, she'd have her hands full to at least educate him to the point he didn't insult everyone he exchanged words with, "Even should he leave, the Marquis will share his thoughts on us upon his return to Val Royeaux. Every guest we receive – and we will receive them – will spread the Inquisition's story. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible."

The Herald glowers as he considers this, but keeps his immediate thoughts to himself, "May I ask what brought you to work for the Inquisition?"  
"Sister Leliana approached me." Josephine responds, relieved that the questioning had taken a turn in well-known territory, and she wouldn't have difficulties supplying answers, "We've been acquainted for quite some time. For better or worse, being the Inquisition's diplomat has become as interesting as she promised."

The answer appears to have satisfied him for now, as he responds with another question, "What sort of dealings have you had with nobility?"

"For some years, I was the royally appointed court ambassador from Antiva to Orlais. The nobility of Thedas is a rather singular sphere. Those I'm not acquainted with, I know through reputation." She takes up her quill to make a few quick notes on the meeting with the marquis as she speaks.

Meldarion frowns, "If every noble wandering by is as stubborn as the Marquis, what good is it talking to them?"

Josephine bites back a sigh, as she puts the quill aside, "Every kingdom is subject to its lords. The Inquisition will require their goodwill to survive."

The Elf grimaces, clearly finding the notion of making nice with people, who in his opinion clearly don't deserve it, to be a distasteful one. Unfortunately, they had little choice, it is all part of the Game.

"But please excuse me." She takes her quill up once more, "I've much work to do before the day is done."

Rather than taking this as his cue to leave, the Herald merely turns to shut the door and walks right up to stand in front of her desk, and she blinks up at him in surprise.

"There is something I need to discuss with you. Cassandra said you might be able to help." His expression has changed now, the irritation and anger replaced by something else, and it takes her a moment to realize, it's anxiety masked by determination.

"I will assist to the best of my ability, Herald." Josephine responds, by now curious, and wary of what it is he may ask of her.

"It's my clan. I-" He swallows, "I need to know, if they are alright."

The Ambassador hadn't been expecting that, but mentally berates herself for not doing so, of course, the Herald would want to know how his people fare, and she really should have foreseen it.

"We can make inquiries as to how they fare, if it worries you. Perhaps the inquisition could lend a hand, I believe we have some connections in the region we could make use of."

The Elf nods, murmuring a soft thank you, so unlike his usual brash self, and so much closer to how he'd been during his…emotional outburst.

She had to handle this delicately.

"Herald…" She starts carefully, knowing very well she might not just be digging herself into a hole, but her grave. She's interacted with Elves before, of course, but Dalish Elves are very much a mystery to her, "I should like to know, if anyone here has treated you unkindly for being an Elf." There. She'd said it.

Meldarion does not respond immediately. The statement appears to have genuinely surprised him, allowing Josephine to hope that just maybe none of that had occurred…yet.

The Herald shrugs, "A few whispers and sideways looks perhaps…" And the unspoken question of why she wants to know, and whether she actually cares about such a thing dangling off the edge of his response.

The Ambassador shakes her head with a sigh, "I shall speak with the staff regarding such conduct, if we are to convince the world that Andraste's Herald is an Elf, the Inquisition must give you its utmost support. Stories of wild Dalish Elves have grown even more outrageous as people learn of you."

More outrageous? Truly, considering the usual tales of the Dalish savages he's heard circulating amongst humans, he's uncertain how much worse they could have gotten, "How have the rumors gotten worse?" Meldarion raises an eyebrow, "Is that even possible?"

Josephine shifts uncomfortably in her chair, and avoids his gaze, "I would prefer not to repeat them."

"Give me something." The Elf persists. She'd brought the subject up after all, she might as well tell him what she'd heard.

The Antivan noblewoman sighs in resignation, "Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using infants for blood magic…Those are the stories about your fellow Dalish. I won't repeat what they said about you." The last she says with an air of finality that brokers no argument, and Meldarion lets it go, despite his own burning – perhaps unhealthy – curiosity.

Instead, the Elf rolls his eyes, "Why not claim that the Dalish can steal your breath and turn into Dragons while they're at it? Although someone probably already has, now that I've said it…" He mutters, shaking his head, "But…" He frowns as another thought occurs to him, "Isn't the magic just as much a problem as my ears? I'm a Dalish Elf as well as a Mage." His being both likely made people that much warier around him.

"It depends which way the wind is blowing." Josephine admits, taking up her quill once again, although she has yet to write with it, "Magic is meant to serve man, the Chant teaches. Close the Breach and we can claim that is why Andraste chose you. Hopefully it will be enough to replace this Gossip about the Dalish."

The Herald's face had taken on a bitter look, "The Humans telling those tales are the first to take a knife to someone with pointed ears. My clans defended ourselves against them more times than I can count." He'd learned that hard lesson as a boy, and it wouldn't be one he'd forget any time soon.

"Really?" The Ambassador appears disturbed by the revelation, but determined to do what she can to somehow gain something positive from this exchange, "I had no idea. I will do what I can to end this slander, Herald. It may help, if I know more about how you and your clan lived."

Meldarion lapses into silence once again as he thinks on how to answer that loaded question and how much he should divulge to someone, who is essentially still a stranger to him, "We're at the mercy of everything." He starts slowly, "Foul weather, disease, village mobs…" Noticing the woman's discomfort he finds himself adding, "It wasn't all bad…we'd get up before dawn to fish, constantly mend wagons and tents, spend days on the hunt." He shoots Josephine an incredulous look then, "I still can't believe city dwellers have food delivered straight to their doorsteps." It seemed such a ridiculous notion to him, having grown up with the knowledge that unless they hunted and foraged for their food, there wouldn't be anything to eat. Shemlen seem to have literally everything handed to them.

"Really? I never considered it extraordinary." The noblewoman responds carefully, and Meldarion supposes she wouldn't. She'd led a very different life from his after all.

"The human towns we traded with ate the same food and suffered the same weather we did. The main difference was that they had homes, while we wandered." He adds with another shrug, "Even those willing to trade with us, didn't like us to outstay our welcome…So, I had no complaints about not staying in the same place for too long." He stares off into space, no longer really seeing the room, and likely forgetting who it is he's talking to, "I know that most of the clan wished for it to be different…to have a home that wasn't on wheels…to plant crops on land they could rightfully claim as their own."

Uncertain as to how to respond to what might have been a more private thought, Josephine settles for, "Haven is so far away from home. You must miss the people of your clan."

Meldarion stops to think, he can't say he loves every member of his clan, or they him, but those few he does…"I was a solitary child and I spent much of my time alone. There will be those among my clan, who won't weep for me, if they even notice I'm gone…"

"Believe me, they'll have noticed." Josephine remarks, causing the Elf to snort.

"Before I came to the conclave, the clan was my whole world, and despite our differences I'd like to see them after everything is done… If I'd stayed, I'd be traveling with them for the rest of my days…" He responds a touch despondently, as he has the nagging feeling that there is no going back…and he is likely to never see them again, but does not voice this thought out loud.

The ambassador smiles patiently, "I hope you get the chance, whether you're with them or not, being the clan of the Herald of Andraste will mark them in history."

The Herald grimaces at that, "The Dalish still worship the Gods of my ancestors, when they hear of me being called the Herald of Andraste, it may stir up anger, not to mention Elves and fame tend to go poorly together. I hope my clan doesn't suffer for it."

"You have my word, Herald, that I will do everything within my power to make inquiries upon your behalf regarding your clan's whereabouts and condition." Josephine reiterates, finally jotting something down onto the nearly blank sheet of parchment in front of her, and with a final nod and murmur of thanks, the Elf makes his exit, leaving the ambassador to her thoughts.


End file.
